Into the Dark
by Radioheaded
Summary: Sequel to 'Citizen Erased.' Eric's memory has been taken, and Elliot must find out how to restore it if she ever wants to get the real Eric back. I own nothing, except Elliot.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Important, Please Read: To Beth; yes, you're right, Dead to the World is an awesome book. And it honestly my fault that I forgot to mention spoilers for book four; the only reason my story is posted in the 'TV' section is because my original story is a take on Alan Ball's work, not just Charlaine Harris'. Now, i'm mixing and reimagining the two, together, with my own character. This is, after all, Fanfiction. So, thank you, Beth, for reminding me to tell my readers that the storyline was made by Mrs. Charlaine Harris. What follows is the result of my overactive imaginations.

--Radioheaded.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," Eric's eyes tracked mine as I searched for a hint that would tell me this was all a joke, a misunderstanding that would be cleared up in just a moment, that the intelligent, knowing spark would come back to his now-empty, confused gaze.

But as I stared and he drew nothing recognizable from my face; to him, I was a stranger, a passing heartbeat. His inability to make a connection as to who I was only highlighted the fear that pooled in his eyes, making them go wide, so much so that his obvious terror bridged on satire. His body vaulted up, sending me onto my back so forcefully that the air in my lungs was crushed out of me; I counted the long seconds before I could find the ability to breathe in again.

Eric, meanwhile, was looking down at me in horror, probably wondering how he had just done that.

"Uh," I said, finally, and sat up, took the outstretched hand Eric offered and was lifted to my feet delicately, as if he were trying to keep me from breaking, which was a distinct possibility.

"We seem to have a problem here," Pam's words were in my ear, she was suddenly very, very close. My throat closed reflexively and I nodded, looking at the hand that held mine; Eric hadn't let me go. The space between Pam and I increased when I stepped into his space and put my hands lightly, carefully, on his forearms.

"Eric. I'm Elliot. You met me in Dallas and I came down here to work here for you as a day manager."

The silence stretched infinitely as Pam and I waited for a reaction. My body couldn't decide if it was falling through the floor or spinning uncontrollably; both sensations rocked my equilibrium as I wondered what he would do, would say—was he so far gone that he would try to attack me?

"Because I'm…a vampire," He said, finally. "Don't be afraid," he said, softly, bending to speak to me. "I have no intentions of hurting you." He matched my stance, wound his around my forearms. "Do you fear me because you've wronged me?" Though the words sounded threatening, they held no malice.

"No," I said, tacking on an invisible ellipsis. "I'm not afraid of you," I squeezed my hands a little, crept an inch closer, "I'm afraid of what's happened to you."

"Foolish," he said, "Not to be afraid of me. I…." He paused, cocked his head to the side. "I can feel that I'm powerful, and you're just a human woman."

The words stung, but they were true. I'd forgotten about Pam, shoved her existence to the back of my mind in my absorption of Eric's sudden amnesia. When she fell to the floor at my side, into a deep kneel and implored of him a questioning 'Master,' my heart broke.

"I don't—you're my child?"

"Yes," Pam's rise and voice were stiff with disbelief. "You need to get him out of here, now," she said, eyes fixed, unblinking, on my face.

"Me?" I shrugged, held my hands out. "Where am I supposed to take him?"

"Back to his place. No one will be looking for him now, and we can't let anyone see him like this, can't let anyone know anything has happened to him."

"What happened to him?" My voice was high to my own ears. I glanced at Eric, who stood in front of us, looking back and forth as we parried, like he was watching a tennis match. His stance was calm, patient—nothing like what it should have been.

"I don't know," Pam's mouth was set in a firm line; she wasn't going to argue with me, that much was clear enough. "And no one else can, either." She blurred out of my vision, appeared behind Eric's desk and tossed keys at me, which, considering I could barely see them as they flew through the air, was rather impressive.

Pam thought so too. "How much of his blood have you had?"

"Too much." I couldn't take my eyes off the key ring I'd snatched from midair; it was to Eric's pride and joy: the Corvette. I opened my mouth, sucked in air and closed my lips, nodded at Pam and motioned for Eric, held my hand out. His eyes stayed on my outstretched limb for a few beats, then moved up and down my body, assessing. I certainly wasn't a threat, and I guess he saw that, as his fingers curled around mine and we were moving, stalking, to the door. With the hard plastic of the key fob underneath my fingers, I unlocked the doors to Eric's car; the headlights lit up in response and, with Eric still attached to me, I headed toward the light, but Pam stopped me.

"Eric," she spoke kindly, as if to a favored child. "I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Elliot. Will you wait for her in the car?"

He nodded, silent, and left us.

"Don't leave the house," she whispered, as soon as he was out of earshot. "Don't let anyone in; I'll open the bar tomorrow and come straight to you. Clear?"

"Yeah," I said, turning away, gathering myself, and walked quickly to the car, where Eric sat, waiting.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I let my held breath and stress out in a continuous release, closing my eyes and leaning back into the smooth leather of the seats. Without having rid myself of any actual tension, the key in my fingers found its way into the ignition; I turned it sharply and the car roared to life under me. I smiled in spite of myself, excited to drive something so powerful, but then I remembered _why_ I was given this privilege. I was carting around someone who was probably the oldest, most powerful vampire in North America, a man who had just developed an incredible vulnerability—one I didn't want to remind him of, lest he lose his temper. He'd promised not to hurt me, but I had no real reason to trust him; I didn't know this vampire, this 'Eric-lite' who'd taken my—my what? My boyfriend? My lover? I didn't know how to refer to him.

"Your heart is racing," he noted when I pulled onto the main road, the engine reacting with the slightest _thought_ I had of pressing the accelerator; it was like a cat, purring contentedly when I sped up, humming joyfully in the night air.

"It's been an intense night." I didn't look at him, but I sensed his touch before my I processed his contact. My hair was swept back, my neck bared, and the otherwise smooth skin that now bore his marks was brought out into the darkness of the car, though I knew he could see them like he was looking through a telephoto lens. It was like having a tattoo of his name on my neck; they said I was his, and yet he wore no reciprocal badge, nothing that would hint to my existence. I could never really leave myself on him.

"I've had you," he said, his voice loaded, but I refused to acknowledge the second meaning. I'd be conceding my body to a stranger, giving him too much—and this Eric, this being without any of the spark I'd come to know, could try to take advantage of the bond I'd had with Eric, the real Eric.

"We've shared blood," I evaded, my eyes on the dark roads in front of me.

"I could drive, you know. I know I am able, and my reflexes are better."

My eyebrow rose, like it was being pulled by an invisible string. "And you would drive us where, exactly?"

He fell silent.

"What happened tonight, before you woke me up?" I still couldn't look at him, and his fingers were still on my neck, tracing over the wound there lightly, as if he was reassuring himself of his existence. Somehow, I was proof that he was who we said he was—my feelings allowed him to trust me, I guess, though all I was feeling right now was a bone-deep fatigue, vague sorrow, and regret. Regret I hadn't left before, before I'd somehow dragged him into trouble again.

"We'll talk about it when we get to your place."

"My place," he said, and it was hollow, a familiar phrase that held no connotation for him other than the fact that he rested there.

"It's beautiful," I replied. "The first time I saw it, I couldn't believe it was yours."

"Why?"

"Because," I said, hesitantly, wondering how I'd explain my forced servitude, my attitude toward him in the beginning of our arrangement. "Before I saw your home, I'd only had Fangtasia as a representation of your style."

"Fangtasia," he rolled the word around, his lips curling up slightly. "That's my bar?"

"Yeah."

"And you're the manager of it."

"The day manager," my hand went to my head; I'd begun to grasp the depth of Eric's lack of knowledge. "But I only really got a day in before I was kidnapped by the witch who did this to you, I'm assuming."

"You think a spell was placed upon me?" I glanced over at him, took in his surprised expression, furrowed brow, and broke a little inside.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, sensing my pain.

"I—" The final turn for the car ride came, and I pulled into Eric's driveway before shutting the car off and putting my hands to my eyes. "I can't believe someone did this to you," I said, finally, and reached for him, needed to have his touch on me again. He gave it willingly, and so I sat there, clasping him to me, pleading silently for him to come back to me. After a few minutes of futility, I looked into his eyes.

"What's your first memory?"

"The first thing I saw," he turned away from me, looked to the roof of the car. "Is you, your face and hands—the warmth of your skin, the fear in your eyes."

I held back a tremor that built in my stomach. "I'm sorry. I was scared for you; she shot you."

"She?"

I didn't answer, turned away and opened the door. "Come on," I said. "Let's go inside." He was at my side when I walked to the house, used the only other key on the ring to open the door, and let him into the not-quite mansion.

"I do well," He said, taking in the expensive furniture, the subtle decorating and obviously authentic Manet that hung over the mantle of the first living room.

"The car didn't give you that hint?" I smirked, but the smile fell off my face when he looked at me, shook his head sadly. This just wasn't Eric, and I couldn't get used to it. But he was in my care—which seemed so wrong it was almost perverse—and I had to keep him at ease, keep him comfortable.

"Ok," I said, sitting on a soft, green couch near the fireplace. "Here's what happened. We met in Dallas, and I came to work for you here in Louisiana. After a few days, I got kidnapped by a witch and a vampire, who thought I was something special because you were with me. They didn't think you would be with a normal human." Eric's eyes were glued on my face, switching back between my lips and my eyes. He didn't seem to be afraid, but his attention was rapt.

"Anyway, they took me, but I killed the vampire, got out and came back here, and tonight, the witch came back and attacked us because she was supposed to have been turned by the vampire. She wanted your position."

"Position?" His brow furrowed.

"Oh, yeah. You're sheriff of area five, how much land that is I'm not sure, but I know it's at least this part of Louisiana. So, anyway, Pam killed the witch, but after she shot you. And that's where you woke up."

"So, we're lovers." His eyes were now definitely on my lips.

"We're…you've told me you want to be with me. That you want to turn me."

"Why haven't you let me?"

"I don't know," I said, and he got closer, hanging on my words. "It just hasn't felt right yet." I shook my head, looked down at my hands and noticed the state of his clothes—he was covered in blood, and his shirt was shredded. Even though I'd fed him after he'd been shot, he looked pale, wan.

"Come on," I said, standing, and held my hand out, which he took, and we walked together, him at my side, not behind, up the stairs to the shower. The upstairs bathroom was bigger than the one I'd used, and it had the same Jacuzzi tub that Pam's had featured. I closed the door behind us, and turned to see Eric standing awkwardly, looking at me, then away, then back.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," He was in front of me, having moved too quickly for me to see. "I can defend myself if I have to, but I can feel you, your intentions. You want to protect me."

"You have no past," I thought out loud. "Your oldest memory is from an hour ago; you're existence is in the moment." I bit my lip, thought of the philosophy of an existence with no past, but shook myself from the trance when he spoke.

"You speak in poetry," he said, and I smiled, reached forward to touch him, to cast his bloody shirt off and away, the small buttons snagging on my nails as I went. I ran my hands over his the pale gleam of his chest; without thinking I found myself moving forward, encircling him, stepping up on my toes to embrace him fully, completely. After a pause, he did the same, buried his head in my neck and breathed in deeply, taking my scent in, I assumed.

"You smell familiar," he said, and my mouth screwed up into a wince. I covered his mouth with mine, and for awhile, I had Eric back, the real man. As we wound around each other, the man I'd fallen in hate with, then an almost-love, was back, in my arms.

But I knew it wasn't him, and so I let go, looked into his eyes and back off.

"I'll let you go," I offered, heading toward the door, but his voice stopped me.

"Don't go," he said, softly. "Please."

That same, familial sadness washed over me, and it hurt to know he would feel what I felt dragging in my blood, weighing me down with each step I took.

"Alright." I turned around, went to the bath and turned it on, settling my hand underneath the stream to find the right temperature, smiling as steam filled the room. My skin took a breath, gathered the condensation of the room and relaxed a bit, let go of some of the tension that had built in my shoulders, my legs.

I was comfortable being naked around Eric, but I was unsure of myself around this stranger. We looked at each other, static, and his stance was so inoffensive that I began to feel foolish, so I stripped off the clothes Pam had given me, down to my bra and underwear, before looking him dead in the eye and removing those two. It was an exercise of trust, a 'this is me, I give myself, you're safe,' and his hands went to his zipper, pulled it down and his jeans fell around his ankles; shortly thereafter his boxers joined them. I turned my back, approached the tub and slipped into the water, which took on a slightly pink tinge when Eric joined me a moment later.

In the heat, the fluid warmth of the bath, I knew that Eric wasn't a threat to me; I'd given him chances, shown myself to be vulnerable, physically, and he'd stayed back, though I could feel the hunger that flowed lightly through him. I doubted he kept any True Blood in the house, though, so when I watched him sink into the water with me, went under for just a moment and resurfaced, hair slicked back, slightly pink, I couldn't help but offer my wrist, allow him to take from me what he'd saved when he'd distracted the witch, promised her the club.

He took my wrist, fingers clasping lightly, the kiss of a butterfly, and silently asked if I was sure; I spread my hand and closed my fingers, a 'come here' motion that he followed, pressing himself into my side before biting, drawing deeply so I flushed through the pleasure his concentration gave. He wanted me to feel this way when he fed, and so I enjoyed the rush, gave into it because it felt good and I had no reason not to.

When he pulled away a few draughts later, with my blood coloring his mouth, a shocking red like a geisha would wear, he bit the inside of his own wrist and let the blood run onto my wounds, healing me instantly.

"We're bonded," he explained, happy with the knowledge that I did truly care for him, would let him take my blood willingly, had agreed to harbor him (though, in his own house).

I replied with a smile, but his trust worried me; I hoped his instincts, his sense of self-preservation would keep him safe, that this trust he was displaying was only because I had demonstrated my loyalty. The thoughts scared me, but I pushed them away, allowed Eric to bring me to his now-warm chest, where I fell into an almost-sleep, undisturbed by the absence of movement from his still chest.

When the water lost its heat, we went to the bedroom without bothering to dress, and fell asleep next to each other in the light-proofed room.

I didn't dream.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Please read! Hey guys, so I know the last chapter was from Elliot's perspective, but that will sort of act like a prologue to the rest of the story, which is from Eric's POV. Again, this is a storyline from book 4 of Charlaine Harris' series, but with my own twist (so there are spoilers!) Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for the reviews, everyone!

They said I was over 1,000 years old. Their voices, quiet but full of awe, had hit my ears with a blank sort of echo; this, my age, was just another fact that didn't actually mean anything to me. They had told me last night of my importance, my power, and I believed them because I felt it in my body, my blood as it hummed in my veins. That I could feel the truth flowing from the woman, Elliot, was a bonus, a reassurance I could use to gauge the reality of my situation.

Elliot.

She was still asleep next to me, folded peacefully into the fetal position, far away from my clouded thoughts. The act of remembering was so elusive, so unattainable that my frustration was tangible; I wanted to tear at skin that would heal instantly, tear out hair that would only grow back. I was tense, muscles ready for a fight, but who was I to kill? The enemy here was my mind. Everything from yesterday was encased in crystal, formed perfectly, and more importantly, _there_, present, on display for me to recall anytime I wanted. But everything before that, 1,000 years worth of nights, was gone, hidden behind murky shapes that I couldn't wade through, couldn't fight off long enough to extract any memory.

I couldn't keep trying to do the impossible; if the witch Pam had killed had actually placed a spell on me, there wasn't anything I could do at this very moment—I wasn't even supposed to leave the house. Instead, I turned my attention back to Elliot, to the rise and fall of her chest in a cyclical pattern that alerted me to the passage of time. The sight of her body, the smell of her blood through her skin took me back to her words, her admission that we were lovers. She'd allowed me to feed from her as if we were; willingly, soft, the delicate touch of her skin on mine, even as sadness drifted through her. Her lips were parted now, pink against the white of the pillow she clutched at unconsciously, fingers curled like they were holding a bat. She smelled like me, but of something else as well, blood; not mine, or Pam's. My child's. I turned that over in my mind, the knowledge of having cared for Pam to an extent that I would have turned her. She wasn't old, I sensed that. The foreign scent mixed into Elliot's blood made me curious; I would have to ask her about that. I wondered when she would wake; humans needed less sleep than we did, could rely on single-digit hours or even go days without it. That was our weakness, the prison of light and its hesitance to finally set, allowing us up. I hated the weakness that flooded my limbs when the sun began to rise, the catatonia that plunged me into nothingness, the sudden and consuming unconsciousness that had left me an hour ago, as abruptly as it had come. Of course, I could fight it, but there were consequences. There always were.

She stirred next to me, rumpling the sheets, making soft, smooth 'woosh' noises as her fingers slid across the fabric of the comforter. Her hands closed into fists and she stretched for a long moment; I heard her muscles tighten, then relax as she brought her hands back up to her face, where she scrubbed at her eyes and pushed the roots of her mussed hair back.

"Hello," I offered, my voice breaking the quiet of the room. I felt ungainly, too big next to her.

"Oh," she said, flinching slightly, startled. "Hey." She turned toward me, a smile in her eyes before she rested a hand on my shoulder and kissed me. It was chaste, lips closed, and I let my eyes fall shut, felt my skin react to hers, take its warmth and spread it through my own body. When I opened my mouth to her, asking, before I moved the embrace forward, she jumped back and a lament, hers, filled me.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes on the sheets under her. "I completely forgot."

"It's alright," I answered, disappointed. "I have, too." She looked back to me, disbelieving before bursting into laughter.

"I guess amnesia hasn't killed your sense of humor," she spoke, voice muffled, into the fabric of the pillow beneath her. She'd brought her arm up, buried her face in it, splaying her long hair across her back. The was an interesting shade of auburn, a deep brown red that would probably glow in the light of day; it smelled faintly of something familiar, something I recognized, but from where, or what it actually was, I had no idea. I got closer to the strands, picked up a few tendrils lightly and breathed in deeply, using air I didn't need. Elliot had gone stiff under my touch, though her heart pounded a sweet rhythm that would have made me salivate, had I been human.

"You have another's scent on you," I noted, filing away the familiarity of the smell of her hair.

"Remember when I told you I killed the vampire that had helped kidnap me?" She turned onto her side, resting her head on her open hand. Her body distracted me momentarily; we were both nude, still, but I drew my eyes back to her face.

"Yes," I said. "That's one of the few things I do remember, actually." I was mirthless. This wasn't really a joke, though I held the words as if they were something to be mocked. The fog in my head betrayed me, caged me in like an animal. I shifted, laid onto my back, and fell silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Well, the vampire was going to rape me, was going to feed on me again, so I staked him. The problem was that he managed to tear my artery in two before I could get away from him."

"How did…" I began, but she held up a hand.

"I splashed his blood into my neck and then drank what I could until I was healed."

I stared at her, disbelief drawing across my face; hers collapsed into anger, brows drawn, lips tight, and I felt her conviction, the truth of her words. I wondered how she'd managed to kill one of my kind; physically, she wasn't imposing. Her limbs were long, but lithe, that of a dancer, not a fighter.

"You've had my blood, and that of another's." I stated the question, so she wouldn't get angrier.

"Yes."

It seemed she was intent to stay mad. I reached out, hesitant, and touched her shoulder. She didn't push me away.

"Then, you're a very powerful human." She nodded, the anger abating, replaced with uneasiness. She didn't like—or was afraid of vampire blood's effect on her. I wanted to say more, but in one continuous motion, she shucked the blankets back, away from her and swung her feet over the side of the bed, stepping off toward the bathroom. I took in her form, which spread coils of warmth through my lower abdomen; she turned back, smiled at me appreciatively, but kept going, leaving me alone for a few minutes. I sat up, looked at my own body and hungered for hers. She reemerged, dressed in the clothes she'd been wearing last night.

"God," she said, smacking her own forehead. "I have clothes here."

"Are those not yours?"

"No, Pam leant them to me. We stayed over her place last night."

If I had this house, why would I stay with my child? I wanted to ask, but Elliot had moved across the room to a closet that faced the bed. She motioned me to her, and I made my way over, surprising her again by going too fast for her to see.

"Can you not do that?" She asked, her voice strained.

"I'm sorry," I said, ashamed for having scared her with what came naturally to me.

"I know." Her features softened, and she stretched her mouth into a teasing smile. "I just can't keep up with you when you go so fast."

"Ok." She nodded and opened the closet door and I stared in at an assortment of suits in mostly black before opening a drawer next to the closet, finding work out pants and an assortment of t-shirts and tank tops.

"Those look good," Elliot murmured, more to herself than me, but I nodded anyway. I picked a top and pants, sliding them on quickly, noticing that her eyes strayed down a few times before I pulled the pants on. She experienced an echo of pleasure, of release, and I could tell I had been the one to give it to her. I wanted to remember, wanted to see the images her mind contained, to find recognition in this body, these features I inhibited. I knew what I looked like, had seen my image in the mirrors last night, but they were just a reflection, and I was just a mind, disconnected physically from my own form, the very genetic basis of which was the polar opposite of Elliot's, though I didn't think I wanted to go with Pam. For no real reason, other than the knowledge that Elliot and I had shared a bed, and she was willing to give me her blood, I was comforted by her presence.

I guess the briefest of attentions to my vampirism allowed that physical aspect to take over; with a reflexive muscle shift that felt like an inherent and natural part of my being, I felt my teeth change, lengthen into two points that felt right, that felt natural in my mouth. Elliot's eyes widened when she saw me with my lengthened teeth, so I retracted them quickly. I thought I had proven last night I wouldn't hurt her, but I did understand her worry. No matter how strong I had made her, she was still human, and I could kill her without a thought.

"No, no," she said, pressing a hand to my cheek. Her face flickered with shame, and I knew she understood how I felt. "I know you won't hurt me."

I smiled at her, but it was tight, a forced facial expression that held only exasperation. I hated this uncertainty, having to rely on others, but I knew I would remain this way, trapped, without memory, for the rest of my eternity. Elliot seemed genuinely sorry, though, as if it hurt her to see me upset, so when she offered her hand, I took it, allowed a human to lead me back to the bathroom, where we were surrounded by clones encased in glass. She inched close to the mirror nearest to use, taking me with her, and pressed her hand onto its smooth surface, her reversed reflection mimicking her. She reached up for me, leaving the heat from her hand to melt away from the glass' surface as she balanced on her tip-toes, grasping at my shoulders so she didn't sway. She looked at me for a moment, black lashes illuminating blue eyes so unlike my own, before letting them fall like curtains to her cheeks. I bent down to meet her and she parted my lips, hot, insistent and reached in to taste me; I responded, cradling her neck as she pulled her fingers through my hair, raking her nails into my scalp. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in response, and my teeth lengthened, fast, and I felt Elliot release me, turn me to the mirror. I stared at myself, saw the elegance of the weapons in my mouth. They knew exactly where to bite on every part of her body, knew how deeply to bury themselves, how to make the act pleasurable. I lifted a finger to my mouth and touched the teeth gingerly, traced the upside-down 'u' they formed and saw that Elliot was entranced by my examination.

"I always," she began, a smile curving the points of her lips up, showing her own flat, square teeth, "I always thought this looked more natural on you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, speaking easily around the teeth, forgetting they were there. But they stayed out; Elliot's desire mixed with mine, and it kept me on edge, ready.

"That this is the real you, and your…your human face—that's the real façade."

"A predator?" I asked. "I'm best suited as a predator?" Instinctively, I understand the necessity of such a mindset—vampires are, in a way, animals, though we hunt the top of the food chain, which makes us just a step ahead, though it's a precarious balance, I'd figure.

"It fits." She's tilted my chin down, forced me to look at her, and touched her lips to mine again, lightly. I felt more grounded, attached to someone, to something. I wanted to take her blood again, wanted to push her up against the mirrors and watch as our bodies mingles, forgetting their boundaries for just a little while.

But I was still a stranger to her, and I couldn't push for something that would make her anxious to be around me. So while I did push her gently back into her own reflection, then lift her so her legs wrapped around my waist and kissed her like it was the only thing keeping me alive, or undead, eventually I stopped, set her down and pretended I couldn't smell the faint hint of arousal in the air, or the wistful way she settled her hair back around her shoulders and straightened her sweater.

She bent to the floor to retrieve her fallen hair elastic, and when she came up she swayed slightly, her eyes having taken on a glazed, sightless look. She shook her head, looked at me and raised a shoulder.

"I haven't eaten in awhile," she said, frowning. "And you fed on me last night." She did look pale.

"There's got to be food in here somewhere," she muttered, leaving the room to go downstairs.

***

An hour or so later, she had made and eaten pasta, and Pam had arrived in the dining room where we sat.

"Master," she bowed to me, hopeful, but all I could do is shrug in reply.

"I don't remember you. I know who you are, can smell my blood in you, but I don't know who you are, when I made you; none of the details."

She looked nonplussed, and I looked back to Elliot, who was looking down at the table, shaking her head slightly.

"You need to keep him hidden," Pam said, addressing Elliot. "No one can know he's still in the state."

"Alright," Elliot said, slowly. There was something else, though, going on behind her eyes, and she frowned as I tried to read her, her emotions through the bond.

"I assume then, since I'm the only one who can go out in the day that I'll be doing a little investigating?"

"I knew I liked you for a reason," Pam smirked, but something flashed in her face, quickly, but it had been there. She was grateful.

"You need to point me in the right direction," Elliot said, her face drawn. "I can't do this by myself."

"I will." Pam sat at the table, fixed her stare on Elliot, whose heart beat louder. I was, for the most part, ignored—and not sure how I felt about that.

"You have to be careful," Pam went on. "No one can know we're trying to find a cure for Eric."

"I understand."

Pam nodded, nodded at me before turning to leave, calling over her shoulder that she'd come around again tomorrow, to give Elliot any news.

When my child had gone, Elliot stood up stiffly, took her plate into the kitchen and washed it, silently. I followed.

"You're risking your life for me?"

"Maybe," she answered, without looking back at me. The water poured over her hands and the smell of lemon soap wafted over to me. I felt nothing from her, no sadness, no anger—a lack, an absence.

"Look at me, please." I asked, trying to engage her, to make her feel something, to quell the nerves that were building inside of me. She just shook her head, gripped the sides of the sink and hung her head down, caved in, away from me. Floodgates opened in her and I was buried under a sea of guilt, confusion and a murky feeling that fled before I could chase after it, something unfamiliar, something new.

I went to the sink, caught her before her knees buckled. She stared up at me as we sat together, with dry eyes, but distressed in a way that kept me from speaking.

"I was leaving you," she said, voice low. "I was leaving so no one would come after you through me and vice versa. I wanted to protect what you had."

"It doesn't matter," I said, because it was the first thing that came to me. And it didn't Elliot was here now, was going to protect me as best she could, was going to try to find answers where Pam and I could not.

"I just feel like this is my fault, like somehow your memory is gone because of me." She was limp in my arms, and I could almost fold them around her body and my own; the beat of her heart, the closeness of her body to mine set me off. I pressed my lips to her throat, kissed the skin there lightly and moved up to her ear, where a single word came from me.

"Please." It held my longing, my need for her _right now_. I wanted to drown in her, lose the self I really didn't have.

"I don't know," she said, arching her neck back, turning her face up so I captured her mouth in a kiss, didn't give her time to think, just time to see how I felt.

"I'll need my strength," she gasped, sucking in air when we parted. She pressed into me, though, had reached back to touch my hair, my neck, to bite her nails into the skin there.

"I'll give you mine," I said, then bit softly, drawing in deeply.


End file.
